


Language Lessons, 21: tombac

by ImpOfPerversity



Series: Language Lessons [21]
Category: Baroque Cycle - Neal Stephenson, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: 1 Sentence Fiction, Languages, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-30
Updated: 2006-04-30
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpOfPerversity/pseuds/ImpOfPerversity





	Language Lessons, 21: tombac

  
  
Oh, the endless blue days of sailing were fair and fine, with never a storm in sight, Jack at the helm of his darling ship and Shaftoe always there at the edge of his vision, sunning himself on the black deck, soaking up the light as though he were a sponge (and later, ooh, releasing all that fire and heat in the hot slick privacy of their bed, writhing in Jack's arms as Jack got as close as e'er he could, pouring out imprecations and endearments, seed, sweat and ardency every still tropical night); but Jack's blood was fired in a _different_ manner by the sight of a plump merchantman, a prize, a gallant sight as she headed south-west under full sail before the breeze, but no match -- was there ever ship that was? -- for the _Black Pearl_ as she closed on her prey; the crew were roaring, armed and primed, hanging one-handed from the rigging, their faces wet with sweat and spray as the ship rushed forward to that point, just _there_ , where their two courses would intersect, and Jack himself -- sword-belt slung low on his hips, shirt unlaced, coat hardly redolent of mildew at all now -- at the wheel, steadying his girl, no need to tell the men (the majority of who'd sailed all around the world with him, and knew his rules and restraints) what they might or mustn't do; there'd be no bloodshed save in self-defence, and no abuse, rapine, or enslavement, for Jack had no interest in the men on board that pretty ship -- ooh, Dutch, for sure, with that bold banded red-white-red flag at their nearing stern -- but only in the cargo, the (probably) valuable, exotic, _tradeable_ cargo, that she carried in her belly: "Surrender!" bellowed Jack once he could make out the face (young, unscarred, the beginnings of an unsuccessful beard around an open mouth issuing impenetrable, yet futile, orders) of the Dutch captain; then, suspecting that he hadn't made himself perfectly clear, "Capitulen!" ("Show-away," muttered Shaftoe behind him, "bet that's the only word of Dutch you know,") and waited for a long moment as the ships converged, the _Pearl_ 's hull bristling with armaments and the Dutch belatedly prising open their gun-ports; Jack had no desire to have holes blown in his ship, and 'sides, they hadn't the timber to mend her, and when the Dutch captain, scowling, threw down his sword -- they were close enough, now, to hear it clatter on the deck -- Jack beamed at him, and made a courtly bow; all along the starboard rail his crew were heaving grapnels, hooking onto the merchantman's ratlines and rigging, weaponry unbrandished in their hands (the day _was_ rather warm) and their expressions, while not precisely amiable, at least intended not to strike more than normal alarm into the hearts of their prey; at Jack's side, Jack Shaftoe hefted his pistol and said, "Anything in particular you'd care for, should I chance upon it? silk? cheese? that vile firewater they vend?" and Jack looked at him, a still moment amid the racket of boarding, and said, "Oh, I doubt they've any goods I fancy half as much as ..." and let his smile (strictly speaking, a leer) conclude his sentence; Shaftoe grinned -- hard to tell if he was blushing, under the rich dark tan to which his skin'd been baked -- and said, "Shame on you, Jack Sparrow, for your bed's in need of new linen, the old being somewhat _stained_ ," which remark gave Jack the most delightful frisson of memory, half a hundred filthy spills rushing in on his thoughts; "Find us new linen, then, you fastidious Vagabond," he said (the crew rushing past, around, them to their prey) "and p'rhaps, later, we might _invest_ it, eh?": and then to work, to grab a rope and swing over that narrow chasm of sea, to land more or less neatly on the quarterdeck before the sullen Dutchman, and -- with the aid of his quartermaster, a stout red-faced fellow who spoke English, more or less, with all the sounds racked out long -- ascertained that the _Guiden Roos_ was carrying spices, cotton and goods for barter; "Barter?" enquired Jack, eyebrows raised; "Barter where, eh? for what?" but the quartermaster was unable, or unwilling, to expand upon his explanation, and Jack had little interest in the failed intricacies of their business plan; he counted eight heavy chests, their contents grinding as they were lashed and lifted and hauled across to the _Black Pearl_ , where Grey and Staines stood waiting to receive 'em, and oversaw the lading of a net heaped high with bales and swatches of pale cloth ("Soft as a baby's arse," murmured Shaftoe in his ear, "I'm looking forward to tipping those crusted rags of bedding over the side,") and last, a crate or two of crusty, dusty bottles -- the Dutchman watched aghast as Jack prised one open and took a swig that left him spluttering; vile stuff, and yet, the burn, the burn -- and at last bade his host farewell, holding up a hand as the man began to protest, and assuring him that his victuals and his water were intact, and his books (save one that nestled in Jack's pocket, but why confuse the issue?) unplundered; "You've enough to see you to land," he said, "and we thank you kindly for your ... donations;" and, pausing only to bid his men be gentle when ungrapnelling the _Guiden Roos_ , sprang to the rail, caught a rope, and was caught in his turn by Jack Shaftoe, who held his arm a moment longer as he said, "Come below, Jack, and see what we've found;" nothing loath, Jack followed Shaftoe, and found their bed heaped with pale raw cloth that smelt of sandalwood and still, faintly, of piss from its bleaching; atop it Shaftoe'd tipped the contents of a chest, metal glittering and throwing sequins and scintilla of light everywhere, over Shaftoe's broad smile and over the dark wood of the bulkheads, dazzling Jack for a moment with its gleam and shine -- was that _sapphire_ there, or only lapis? -- until he leant forward and snagged a chain, strangely light in his hand; "Treasure indeed," he told Shaftoe, whose smile was shading t'wards a smirk; who said, all superior, "Nay, Jack, 'tis **tombac** ; you know, Dutch gold --"; "Well, the ship was Dutch!"; "-- _pinchbeck_ , you might say, or _occamy_ , which is --"; "Yes, yes," said Jack, feigning testiness, "an alloy of base metals counterfeiting gold; and counterfeiting it very nicely, Mr Shaftoe, so I don't expect we'll have much difficulty _transmuting_ it when next we make our trades: but actually, when I spoke of treasure, I wasn't speaking of this, this _frippery_ ," and he reached up and looped the tawdry thing 'round Shaftoe's bare throat, "but of something that's of far more value to me, not least for his _domestic_ \--" but Shaftoe, laughing, was grabbing handfuls of false gold from the bed, decking Jack hasty and careless with glass rubies and rough-cast medallions, hooking painted earbobs into his hair, lassooing him with a rope of wooden pearls and pulling him close to kiss.


End file.
